Cycle
by Poisoned Scarlet
Summary: "Live with this knowledge, Roy Mustang, just as you live with the guilt of what you did to my people." Roy Mustang realizes the past will never stop haunting him.


**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist._

**Cycle  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlet_

* * *

Dedicated to_ East Coast Captain,_  
Just keep on sendin' me requests, you've got a creativity I can't rival :D

* * *

It's strange, to be on the opposite end.

To watch yourself choke up, freeze, as white energy crackles around you.

The millions of thoughts, the fear that threatens to consume you, is almost otherworldly as you desperately reach into your pockets to grab your flint gloves.

It does not even cross your mind that you have seen The Truth and you can combust anything with a simple snap of your fingers; no longer needing the aid of your gloves.

"Not today, Roy Mustang."

An arm crushes you against the wall and, as he pins you there, boring bloodthirsty eyes into your own, you remember how, exactly, you came to be in such a grave situation.

You had been bantering with Havoc again, telling him not to smoke in the office because it was not allowed, and he had laughed and waved off your halfhearted commands; saying that you should allow him to enjoy the short freedom, as Riza is still on maternity leave.

You had picked up your coat and bade your farewell to your comrades, promising not to tell Riza that Fuery was using the phone to call up his girlfriend and Breda was eating in the office again. You had calmly made your way out of Central Command, wondering if Full Metal would hold out for a few more days with his own brat before he pleaded for help, and you had snickered at the thought of Edward on his knees, begging for your help.

He would make a good father, you had thought, because he did _not _have a father, and he could act on all of the desires he wished his father would have done for him.

You wondered about your own father: how he had pushed and pushed you into alchemy, how he had pushed and pushed you into becoming the best; how you had turned away from his expectations, learned at your own pace, and subsequently quit alchemy to join the military and fulfill the dream that has now developed into a reality...

Your delayed reaction to the crackle of white light was your downfall.

The ground had cracked, rolled up, and shoved you into a dark ally way. Your home, you had thought, was not too far away from Central Command, and, as such, you had not taken your automobile to work for a long, long time...and perhaps that had been a mistake.

You enjoy long walks.

Now that small pleasure, that small reprieve from the tiring cycle of your job, has been taken away from you.

"Roy Mustang." The man hisses, crushing his strong forearm against your neck. "How I have longed to have you in this position..."

"What—who are you?" You wheeze, gripping his arm. You narrow your eyes, your mind aflutter with thousands of thoughts; thousands of plans for escape, of how to reverse this unnerving situation. The shadows shift and your eyes widen when they catch the glimmer of crimson. "Ishvalan...?"

"That's right." He replies, coldly. "I am from Ishval – the land _you _destroyed, and now have the audacity to revive with those same bloodstained hands." You can't speak – both because he is choking you and because you have nothing to say to that accusation. "Do you remember me, Roy Mustang?"

Your brow creases. "No – I've never seen you in my life!"

"Oh, but you have. Think – _remember_: Do you remember the child crying in deprived land, toward the edge of Ishval? The child you spared a glance to before you destroyed my home, destroyed my _life_, and took my _parents_ along with it?"

"You..." Suddenly, you remember: that little boy – the one in oversized rags for clothes, with tears streaming down his cheeks. You spared him a glance but only a glance – not because you are cruel or heartless but because you could not bare to see such a crushed expression in twin red eyes. "That boy...it was _you_?"

You had snapped your fingers and destroyed his home, along with the people around it. There had been a few wielding pitchforks and other agricultural objects to fend you off but they were nothing more than fuel for the fire compared to your alchemical strength.

You realize, paling, the pair who battled so fiercely for their home yet succumbed to your flames were this boys family...

Your heart weighs with the knowledge.

"Yes, it was me." His hand rises, crackling with alchemy. Your eyes quickly trace the unusual symbols and scriptures on his arm, similar to the tattoos of Scar yet different. The light is white, not red or blue, and you can feel static start to build around yourselves.

"I remember - you were the little boy holding onto a younger girl.."

"My sister." He stated. "She died of illness a few weeks after the attack on Ishval."

Your throat is dry; drier than the desert you had marched through to reach that death-sealed land. "I..."

"Say it." He hisses. "Tell me your sin - say it!"

"I..."

"Say it!" He roars.

"I killed them..." You force out, gritting your teeth. That word, _kill_, leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. "I know I took something precious away from you but you don't want to do this!" You shout. "Killing me will not bring them back! Revenge will not reverse what I have done to your lands... it will only fill you with bitterness – you'll get no satisfaction from killing me!"

"Is that so?" He sneers.

"You don't know how much I regret what I did in Ishval, that's why I'm trying to repair it!" You plead for his understanding.

"Repair it?" The man roars. "You cannot repair something you have crushed! You're decades too late!"

"But I can _try_!" You roar back. "I can try to absolve the sins of my own people. I know it will never be enough, but I have to do _something..._" You set your jaw, your fingers digging into his wrist. "I have to try..."

"Pathetic." The man sneers. "You're pathetic, Roy Mustang, you and your people are pathetic! You're nothing but savages! You don't deserve our forgiveness – you don't deserve even a _glance_! May Ishvala have mercy on your soul, because _I_ will not."

"No—!" You barely manage to dodge, the lightening blow causing a deep dent in the brick behind you. Sweat is trailing down your temple, your heart is alive in your ears, and chills run down your body as the man chuckles at your fear and lowers his arm.

"Your family, how are they? The news of your marriage has traveled far and wide, General."

Your stomach drops.

"I heard that your wife is with child – it is a girl, yes?" His grin is mocking. "I pity your daughter for having a murderer for a father."

Anger bubbles – it embitters into a fury that pumps poisonously through your veins, that causes your voice to lower to such a dangerous tenor. "Don't you _dare_ touch them."

He pays you no heed, continuing: "What if I told you, _General_, that everything you have come to love is gone now? That now you have nothing to live for, just as you had left me when I was a child?"

"...What?" You don't believe it – he's lying, as far as you care. That can't be true. What he's trying to say: they're all lies.

"What if I told you they're gone and their blood is on my hands? Just like the blood of my people is on yours? Would it be an even trade? Would it be... _equivalent_?" He raises his hands to show you but you don't – _can't_ – look because there is a strangling hatred crawling up your throat, a choking grief, and it is slowly consuming you.

"WHAT DID YOU _DO_ TO THEM!" You don't care. You suddenly don't care for your life, as you shove forward and slam him against a wall. You hold him by the lapels of his shirt, slamming him against the wall again. "What did you do them, you bastard? I swear that if you did _anything_ to hurt them, I'll kill you where you stand!" You hiss, with so much fury it surprises the man you now hold hostage.

He stays silent.

You raise your hand, fingers poised for a snap. The alchemy crackles around your hand, erratic and powerful. "Speak." You growl. "What did you do to Riza?"

"Such hating eyes." He comments. "Did you give my people that same stare when you killed them?"

"Don't fuck with me, you bastard, _tell me_!"

"She is where you left her in the morning." He answers, calmly. Your hand trembles. "She is making dinner and anticipating your arrival."

You breathe hard, your grip on his shirt loosens. "She's...okay?"

"They mean much to you." He pushes you away roughly. You're dazed. "How did it feel? To realize that what you love could be taken away from you so easily?"

You say nothing – you simply stare, clenching your hands into shaky fists.

"I will not kill you, Roy Mustang." The Ishvalan finally states. "Not you or your family."

"Then why pretend you were?" You spit.

"Experience." He replies. "I wanted you to experience the fear of death, even if it is nothing new for the likes of you. But now I have made you experience a new type of fear – a fear for _her_ life, which will always be in danger because of what you are. Live with this knowledge, Roy Mustang, just as you live with the guilt of what you did to my people."

You stare at the ground, at your shoes, polished and nice compared to his filthy sandles. "... Is that all you came to say?"

"You mean well but know that one can never forgive what another has done to their loved ones." He turns away from you. "I cannot forgive you for what you did to my parents."

"...I see." Roy presses his lips together bitterly. "I understand."

"But, make no mistake, I do appreciate what you are doing for my people and our land."

You raise your eyes to see him nod at you, solemn and stone-faced. "My parents were not malevolent creatures – they would not have wanted me to kill you. I respect their beliefs, but know it is because of _them_ that you and your family still live." He clenches his fist, knuckles popping and white. The black ink that decorates his arm glows brightly under the moonlight. "Be grateful for your life, Roy Mustang."

He disappears into the shadows of the ally and eventually his footfalls disappear along with the penetrating glare of his eyes.

You fall to your knees, shaky with disbelief.

You look at your hands, the accursed hands that are meant for killing until the day you die.

The hands that have taken so many lives without even the bother of being stained with their blood – but the blood is still there.

It will _always_ be there.

That night you fall into Riza's arms and kiss her like you have never kissed her before.

Because you aren't grateful for your life, you are grateful for _hers _and the other life that is growing within her.


End file.
